To be honest, when I stepped out of the air conditioning of Sky Harbor International Airpot in Phoenix Wednesday morning, I expected to be hit with a red hot hammer. After all, this is the city being crushed by the full brunt of global warming, 31 consecutive days above 110 degrees Fahrenheit. That has to be brutal.
Yes, it was only 103 at the time, about 11 a.m. I'd experienced hotter, and perhaps that was affecting my expectations, memories of that 105 degree day in 1995. Back then, I'd walked a block to the dry cleaners in East Lake View and immediately home to lie down, wrung out, spent.
Six hours earlier, it had been 58 degrees when I'd walked the dog in the early morning cool of Center Ave. I'd considered wearing a jacket, but figured, "Enjoy it while you can."
Stepping through the automatic airport doors, I even formed phrase, in my mind, just to be ready, "Jesus fucking Christ!" Or some such thing. It was on the tip of my tongue.
Only the 103 degree heat was ... bearable. Not a shock at all. Dry heat, as they say and ... could it be? ... slightly balsam-scented. Phoenix smells like a hotel sauna.
As the temperature rose, I went about my business. Delivering my younger son's cat (I can almost hear readers who learned their parenting skills watching "The Great Santini" lunging for their keyboards to lecture me about how I am a ruinously indulgent parent. Spare me; based on how my boys turned out, you don't have a leg to stand on. Off the charts).
We swung by Phoenix's main drag, such as it is, and the Sandra Day O'Connor United States Courthouse. Phoenix is depopulated at 12 noon. Hardly anyone on the street. At Home Depot, where I went to buy the lad the cordless electric drill that every householder should own (note to Great Santini set: shhhhhhh) groups of Hispanic men waited under trees. Day laborers, waiting for work. I bet the heat they feel is much different than the heat I shrugged off, dashing in and out of air conditioned cars and buildings. So let's stipulate that. I can only report what I experience; I'm not the all-seeing-eye.
Phoenix reminds me of Los Angeles, not an actual city at all, in the Chicago, cohesive-place-with-a-downtown-and-neighborhoods, sense, but more of a random agglomeration of disparate locations united in a municipal totality. Streets of tiny ramshackle houses gave way instantly to the ballpark for the Diamondbacks. ("How do they play baseball in this?" I asked my son, and he pointed out that the field is covered and air conditioned, which seems wrong). The stadium yielded to a stretch of office buildings, then back to cement plants and flooring outlets, welding supply companies and yards of lawn statuary.
I tried noting the colors of the buildings, but here words failed me — maybe it's the heat. There was red brown and copper brown and rose brown, khaki and beige and khaki beige, a spectral wheel of brown: dun brown and tan brown and brown brown, with the occasional bright yellow and faded red for variety's sake, with lots of old mustard and yesterday's oatmeal. Blame the sun — I saw more cars whose paint jobs had been seared off in two days in Phoenix than seen in two years in Chicago.
There are many junior and community colleges and trade schools. As we drove Interstate 17, heading to dinner, I began to notice all the billboards were for personal injury attorneys, but left off one salient detail — the lawyers' names. Instead they read "Husband & Wife Lawyer Team" and "Accidentjustice.com" and nicknames like "Sweet James" and "Rafi."
My guess is their targets have limited English skills. Digging around, I found the Arizona Republic dedicated an episode of its Valley 101 podcast on this very subject. Like most podcasts, it's an incredibly slow-moving 22 minutes of time-filling and tap-dancing — including an eye-crossing number blast probing whether Arizona has more lawyer billboards than other states, beginning with the protracted story of how, in 1977, lawyers advertising became legal in Arizona.
The key question — why so many personal injury lawyer billboards compared to billboards for supermarkets and accountants and every other form of human endeavor? — wasn't raised, never mind answered.
Though one lawyer interviewed on the Arizona Republic did say, "If you have any soul at all, you have to kinda hate lawyer advertising."
Yes, but why? That was asked.
"Why does it feel like we're surrounded by them?" host Kaila White wonders, calling Mark Breyer, who with his wife Alexis constitute, "The Husband and Wife Law Team."
"The reason is ... " Mark Breyer begins, promisingly, then says, in essence, they're trying to reach people. Stop the presses!
"If anyone can be your client, then casting a wide net kinda makes sense," host White reveals.
The obvious answer of why we notice them — because they're numerous and crude, with their stupid nicknames and sledgehammer get-cash-now tone — is finally hinted at, toward the very end of the podcast, after 22 minutes of life I'm never getting back.
After lunch, it reached 111 degrees, and I retired to a chaise by the pool. It was warm, but not unbearable so. My biggest trouble was my eyes — running and smarting. Did I say it's a dry heat? It is. A very, very dry heat.
The biggest way the brutal Phoenix heat manifested itself was when I went to relocate from the lounge chair to the pool. I went to step onto the concrete and drew my bare foot back. Too hot to walk upon. I put on my flip-flops, and walked over to the stairs. The metal handrail was too hot to touch. I slipped off one sandal, then the other, and stepped into the water. We ate well , and since readers do both live in and occasionally visit Phoenix, I probably should go into detail. Lunch the first day was at the Welcome Diner at 10th and Pierce, where I had the "Carol" sandwich — smoked pork shoulder, Carolina BBQ sauce and tangy coleslaw on a fresh baked biscuit, with homemade lemonade and a slice of their hibiscus cherry piece
After lunch, it reached 111 degrees, and I retired to a chaise by the pool. It was warm, but not unbearable so. My biggest trouble was my eyes — running and smarting. Did I say it's a dry heat? It is. A very, very dry heat.
The biggest way the brutal Phoenix heat manifested itself was when I went to relocate from the lounge chair to the pool. I went to step onto the concrete and drew my bare foot back. Too hot to walk upon. I put on my flip-flops, and walked over to the stairs. The metal handrail was too hot to touch. I slipped off one sandal, then the other, and stepped into the water. We ate well , and since readers do both live in and occasionally visit Phoenix, I probably should go into detail. Lunch the first day was at the Welcome Diner at 10th and Pierce, where I had the "Carol" sandwich — smoked pork shoulder, Carolina BBQ sauce and tangy coleslaw on a fresh baked biscuit, with homemade lemonade and a slice of their hibiscus cherry piece
Dinner was a place my kid discovered because it's in a strip mall by the Goodwill, the lyrically named "Soup & Sausage." I tried kvass for the first time — think a rye bread soda, not sweet, almost like an NA beer, but dark. And a platter of pierogi — chicken, onion, and two sour cherry — a pair of well-crafted sausage, and a mound of sauerkraut.
Dinner in Phoenix Thursday night was at Taco Boy's — as much as I sometimes lament a missing possessive, the presence here made me itch to ask the oldest person behind the counter if he were the Taco Boy, and to congratulate him on his grammar. But the place was hopping, and I thought better than to bother anybody. The food hot of the grill and fantastic — the first taco I've ever gotten that was too hot to pick up when I unwrapped it.
Speaking of hot. We were there about 7 p.m., and people were sitting outside, enjoying dinner on the patio. It was 106 degrees. But a dry heat. You get used to it.
Not a fan of Phoenix nor of lawyers though you make it all sound so nice. I dont remember you ever getting blasted for bad dading by the assembled masses . Even though you rarely mention your boys now that they are adults its clear they've made something of themselves even if they might end up with their face on a billboard, lol.
ReplyDeleteClearly you are not in phoenix to post bale though beyond delivering a cat im not exactly sure of your purpose there. Not that its any of my business. You should definitely catch a ball game. If not now on a future visit. Heck even I went to my first opera
Nope, delivering the cat was the assignment, though of course we've enhanced our stay. No ballgame, though the stadium is a mile away. We did go to the Museum of Musical Instruments, which was beyond fabulous, and I'm going to write about in the paper. Not accused of being a bad dad in print, but there is a reader I think of as the Old Scold who, every time I mentioned the boys, would write in, chiding me for sparing the rod, etc. Now that I think of it, the OS has been silent for a while, and perhaps has moved on. I probably should too.
DeleteYou brought a cat into this hell?!
ReplyDeleteNeil, you mean Interstate 17. Interstate 71 runs from Cleveland to Lexington, Kentucky, something like that.
ReplyDeleteJack
I loved this column and the slice of life so much! Congrats on the boys! (I presume this is a clerkship? Wow! No Billboards for him!). I know what you mean about the scolds. Mine was in the form of one of my daughter's grade school teachers who would chide me for indulging her by doing things like on the rare occasion she forgot her lunch, bringing it to her and not making her eat the cold cheese sandwich the school was offering instead, or when she freaked out by that cicada infestation one summer/fall carrying her in places it was really bad even though she was "much too big for that".... teacher "caught" me doing that. And also "caught" me right after school helping my kid to get her hands clean before we went to ballet class and my daughter was upset about the paint on her from art class. What I was I teaching her by all.this.indulgence? How would she function as an adult? Here's what I taught her and here's how she functions. When you are in the hospital, she's the nurse that will advocate for you with meal service when your dinner isn't to your liking and get you brought something else, the one who will gently with no reproach clean you up, and tell you funny stories when you are embarrassed because you were supposed to call her when you needed to use the restroom but didn't and now it's not a good situation, and who despite her still present dislike for insects will spend hours picking lice out of your hair and saying its no big deal when you are an unhoused person who is having a rough go of things.
ReplyDeleteAnnie, what a lovely little vignette
Deletepaul w
roscoe village
I am relieved to read you had a good reason to go to Arizona in August. Hurry back. The weather in Chicago has been gorgeous.
ReplyDeleteBe sure to go to the Heard Museum ( Native American)!
ReplyDeleteI discovered in Phoenix that if you miss an exit, you can drive a long way until the next one. I also discovered that Phoenix really messed up my vision, which caused me to miss exits! The "dry heat" does, indeed, affect the eyes. I used to wear corrective contact lenses at night (orthokeratology lenses -sort of like braces for the eyes.) I would take the lenses out in the AM, and my vision was 'corrected' for the day, without the need of glasses or contact lenses. It worked great in Chicago. But in AZ the dry air made the lenses 'float' differently, and changed my vision in an unwanted manner.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you helped to reunite your son w/ his pet. I recall you were leery of cats when he first brought it along for a family visit. Wishing both of them a happy adjustment to Phoenix.
Jill A
Yes it's a dry heat, the operative word being heat. Some people get accustomed to it and others come to regret relocating to the Valley of the Sun. Those faded paint jobs you noticed, did you realize your skin was suffering a similar fate? Phoenix may be as soulless as LA but it is far easier to navigate. It seems that among people fleeing the frozen north there are many fine chefs. At Le Marche the French chef made terrific breakfasts with the best herbed potatoes I have ever tasted, and a cous-cous with lamb sausage that he served once a month. They also had a misting system that actually made outdoor dining pleasant. Los Olivos in Scottsdale had the best chorizo burrito, if I could have just one more Mexican meal I would choose that over all others. Of course in the late '80s I encountered racism. Our hotel had problems with the ice makers that defied repair. Finally a Detroit transplant solved the problem. But he couldn't solve the problem of racist slurs in the bars and restaurants he serviced and he headed back north. There are worse places to live, like Orlando, but Phoenix is on a knifes edge of a water catastrophe. I would counsel your son to have enough supplies to endure days of waiting for the opportunity to flee when the Colorado dries up, a situation that could be just one earthquake away.
ReplyDeleteUsed to visit Phoenix (actually the suburbs) at least 1x per year. In January! Back when Motorola was the largest private employer in AZ.
ReplyDeleteStill better than Florida humidity.
ReplyDeleteTry New Mexico sometime, if you can't afford Calif, it's the happy medium. Dry heat but not as intense.
ReplyDeleteYes, New Mexico! Especially the high desert down in the gila wilderness. Oh my goodness it's awesome! And 10° cooler at least I don't know if it ever breaks 100
DeleteTry the surburbs of Alburq., like Rio Rancho, not too desert like.
DeleteActually it broke 100 a bit this year, I read, but that was an unusually hot summer.
DeleteEx-Chicago 'burbs dweller here who relocated to Tucson 4.5 years ago. I love how you hit some of the salient points Neil. Pool deck too hot to be barefoot on, metal handrails that burn, car paint burned away and eye and skin searing sunlight. Glad you caught the beauty of prickly pear cactus with fruit!
ReplyDeleteAs far a lawyer billboards go, you should drive into Chicago on 55 sometime. I drive in so often visiting my daughters in Pilsen and Bridgeport that I feel like I know these guys personally!
ReplyDeleteMy wife and I are Chicago and Chicagoland transplants in Phoenix for 7 years now and I still can’t find the precise words to describe the place. “It ain’t Chicago,” fershure, but it doesn’t care to be like any other place because it’s part of an enveloping Southwest natural region that’s Bigawd Unique & Awesome, still and for now. Glad you made the MIM, sorry you missed the pre-pandemic exhibit there on the history of the electric guitar - fascinating, deeply personal/relatable, just great fun. Try to catch a live concert at a very reasonable price in the MIM’s acoustically and architecturally perfect 300-seat performance venue. The Heard, the Phoenix Museum of Modern Art, the Museum of the West in Scottsdale, and countless other museums in the metro area and throughout the state are certainly worth a check, look. History’s very present here, really ancient, near enuff, and forming before your eyes. AZ’s only been a state since 1912; it might well have been better served to remain a U.S. Territory, or designated something big to protect its landscapes and horizons. See Flagstaff, about 120 miles north amid spectacular ponderosa pines; see Tucson, about 120 miles south amid desert, mountains, plains (seems like everyone there has a Linda Ronstadt story), and see all kinds of other AZ places where humans impacted interestingly, +/-. Two final things, check out Arizona Highways magazine, https://www.arizonahighways.com/, soon to mark a century of publishing, and well-known travel-outdoor writer Roger Naylor, www.rogernaylor.com, a transplant from Cincinnati some 40 years ago. A caution, the AZ political landscape is toxic, so “Alright, listen up! Let’s be careful out there.” - Sgt. Phil Esterhaus, Hill Street Blues (Sorry about the length of this post.)
ReplyDeleteDang, didn’t mean to post Anon., am not so savvy on blog post procedure; I’m author of the above, Bob Saigh, formerly of Chicago and west suburban Hinsdale.
DeleteWelcome seeing my favorite swear-word combo. My wife and I, when we were first going together, she saw my too frequent JFC exclamations as close to a red flag in our growing relationship. But because I used JFC so frequently after a while she ceased to notice it. Not long after we got married.
ReplyDeleteCasual cussing is perilous to young minds, so I try to avoid it. Jesus H. Christ was popular for a while, though what the H stands for escapes me. My favorite cuss came in a rush of anger at an idiot driver in River North before it was River North. I was so flustered, Fucking Asshole came out as AssFuckingHole. My friends almost died laughing. It became my calling card and after 50+ years I still use it when appropriate, though I could use it to excess these days if I didn't have such self control.
DeleteAlso recommended. Taliesin West. The E.D. is a Chicago transplant--formerly an engineer turned intellectual property attorney and then corporate exec--and a great guy. https://medium.com/authority-magazine/high-impact-philanthropy-stuart-graff-of-frank-lloyd-wright-foundation-on-how-to-leave-a-lasting-be6f3581b3f7
ReplyDeleteWe love Phoenix in the winter. Next time you’re there try Taco Guild. It’s a desanctified church converted to a restaurant. Great tacos and guacamole. The old altar is now the bar. Check it out.
ReplyDeleteTaco Guils is wonderful! So many taco places here, and they’re all good!
DeleteChicago transplant here…i too have wondered about all the ambulance chaser signs and TV ads (they must keep the stations solvent when it’s not election season, which is coming and I’m dreading!!)! It’s so gross hearing lawyers almost pushing car wrecks as a way to get rich! I hope your son is happy here. At least we now have many Portillos restaurants and when I need a taste of home it’s right there!
ReplyDeleteI. too, have memories of that day in 1995, Mr. S. We were at Wrigley, where the heat index was measured at 125 degrees. They hosed down the crowds in the bleachers, but the spray didn't reach us. Too far back. My wife went down to get a cold drink and never came up. She passed out on the ramp, and they laid her out in one of the air-conditioned spaces underneath the seats. Dozens of other folks were laid out all around her. It was like the Atlanta train station scene in "Gone With the Wind.
ReplyDeleteYankee ammo didn't do them in--it was the beer, which continued to be sold (and guzzled) despite the killer temperatures, and it had the expected effects. It wasn't just the heat, it was the stupidity. And those who make a buck from it. Somebody always does.
I have been in the Mojave Desert in the summertime, and I lived in Florida for a couple of years, but this was a combination of both. Chicago in July of 1995 was the worst heat I've ever experienced. It was as if someone laid a hot, wet beach towel over your face... and kept it there..